


I Could Use A Little Mercy

by i_got_these_words



Series: Ringside: Ficlets [3]
Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Explicit Language, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 00:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_got_these_words/pseuds/i_got_these_words
Summary: "Only, I wanted to be the one to take him under. Down, down the rabbit hole. Where no one could see, and we could be whoever we wanted to be."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is designed to be read following Ringside: Chapter (29). However, it is not a necessary accompaniment to the original fic. I could say feel free to skip this work, but fuck it. I promise it's worth it x

I was no stranger to crushing on a friend. Especially back in grade school when I’d had a lot of love – most of it entirely libido-driven – that I wanted to share. Explore. Enjoy.

Crushing on the same guy twice, though? That was new territory for me.

Although, one could argue that it was just an old infatuation resurfacing. A familiar fondness, frozen by a paradox and a protracted absence, now thawing out under the flare of rekindled affability.

A resurrection of feelings that probably should have been left unresurrected.

Either way, twice-done or decade-long, it was new for me. And, in a way, it was new for both of us. Because we weren’t the same people we were back then.

What was also new, interestingly, was how Zheng Xi reacted when I flirted with him.

During our school years, he would laugh it off. Let his friends rib him for it. Sometimes, if we were alone, he’d playfully bump my shoulder with his, call me a dork, then change the subject.

These days, he was a little more receptive.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say he was flirting back, but, one time, Chi Chi knocked over a saucepan and Zheng Xi ended up splattered in spaghetti sauce. I’d made a joke about naked men in the kitchen. And he went and fucking obliged. Spent the rest of the video call without his sullied top on.

Shirtless Zheng Xi ruffled all the right feathers.

There was a lot of flexing. And a lot of flaunting.

How much of it was intentional, I couldn’t say. I mean, really, how much do one’s biceps need to bulge in order to stir ground beef?

Yeah, video calls were a regular occurrence now.

And, as it so happens, was a shirtless Zhan Zheng Xi.


	2. Chapter 2

In the beginning, our video call requests were made in code.

For instance, I’d ask what Chi Chi was up to. Or he would text “Chi Chi wants to say hello”.

Sometimes Zheng Xi turned me down with a “she’s feeling shy right now”. That was also code – code for “my ex is home”.

Ye-ahhh.

Zheng Xi was still living with his ex.

Or she was living with him.

Because they co-rented a beachfront villa in upmarket Hong Kong and neither could afford the rent solo. Nor, given their jobs, was it convenient to relocate.

At any rate, he would often point out that even though they lived together, they were not _together_.

Not that he should’ve felt the need to assure me; we were just friends. Maybe close friends. Who texted every other day. And called on the days in between.

But, fuck, if it didn’t make things a little awkward. Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of her passing by. Or I’d see stuff around the place that belonged to her – patent heels, paisley silk scarves, the pretty Balenciaga purse Zheng Xi had bought her on her last birthday.

Oh, and Chi Chi.

They co-owned the long-haired Persian cat.

Many a video call was made under the guise of gushing over Chi Chi’s grumpy persona.

Okay, so the gushing was genuine. Just not exclusive.

During one such video call, I discovered razor voyeurism was a thing. Right about the time Zheng Xi discovered it too –  if the trippy look on my face was anything to go by. If not, the way my tongue lolled out was a dead giveaway.

Since then, he would occasionally indulge me with an entrancing wet shave. And, _holy tits on fire_ , did I love it. There was something utterly erotic about watching him.

Sure, part of it was probably due to him being recently-showered. Damp-hair. Dewy-skinned.

Naked – save for the damn towel round his hips.

But the rest of it was undeniably due to the shaving ritual itself. The way he would lather up. Glide a double-edge razor. Angle his head, the tendons in his neck all taut, the line of his jaw all square and sculpted.

The concentration on his face was something I could easily picture in other contexts – ones that most definitely did not require obstinate, bitchass towels.

If he had time, Zheng Xi would re-lather for a second pass.

Even the way he fucking moisturised was emphatically masculine. And, after he’d massage in his aftershave, I’d think what a wonderful thing it would be to take a freshly-shaven man to bed, smelling like heaven.

And tasting like it too.

I didn’t shave often; I didn’t have to. My facial hair was sparse, and all unwelcomed passengers were introduced to Madam Mayleen’s laser therapy. 

Once, Zheng Xi asked how I did my hair – I’d been experimenting with waterfall braids that day.

I showed him.

He told me it was therapeutic to watch.

So I showed him again, a few times after. And few more times after that.

Halo braids were his favourite.


	3. Chapter 3

Zheng Xi was a mild-mannered man.

Even in his youth, he hadn’t been liable to outbursts or breakdowns. I remembered how, in the midst of a cutthroat game, he’d relish a trifecta with a reserved clenching of his fists, or commiserate an airball with a quiet downcast of his eyes.

From what I’d gleaned, he and his ex were fairly civil towards each other. So civil, in fact, I wondered how, or why, they ever broke up.

But, mild-mannered was just a mask he wore. And, dammit, he wore it well.

The first time the mask slipped in my presence was at The Verdict. It might have been my bawling like a baby that broke the spell. Although, it was more likely that his penitence and pursuit for atonement stipulated a sincerity that had no time or place for posturing or pretence.

The second time took place a couple of months later, at a little nightclub called XXS.

Zheng Xi and I had just devoured our weight in spicy crayfish at a nearby diner and were looking to unwind. The exterior of the club did not lend to its _raison d'être_ – sweaty, sleazy, scandalous nights out. And we were lured in by the promise of chill tunes and chilled drinks.

The crowd was carnivorous and cavorting in twos or threes or more to a moombahton mix. Zheng Xi had wanted to enjoy his Bud Light at the bar so I’d taken to the dancefloor.

And he’d watched me the entire time.

I didn't usually let loose like that. But there was something about the way his steamy gaze strayed down to my swinging hips. The way he licked his lips after a swig. Or how he nursed his drink, like he wanted it to last all night.

A big guy with more paunch than prudence had taken residence behind me. I didn’t object, at first, to how his paws pestered my flanks. Then he called me ‘princess’ and tried to get me to grind against him. I didn't mind dancing with strangers, but I drew the line at dry-humping.

I’d countered his advances with an unambiguous repudiation. Made my way to the men’s to answer a more pressing need.

Predictably, Paunch followed after me.

I was freshening up when he straggled in. Cornered me. Called me a ‘fucking cocktease’.

The smugfuck.

Even if I hadn’t been ready for him, you didn’t grow up with the He boys as surrogate brothers without learning to bring a douchebag to his knees.

I’d done just that when Zheng Xi barrelled in. Seen the man on the ground, clutching at his groin and his bloody nose.

And… yeah.

Despite my attempts to assuage Zheng Xi’s anger, all hell broke loose.

He grabbed Paunch and threw him against the wall. Split his cheek to the bone. Made his bloody nose even bloodier. When Zheng Xi slammed him into a cubicle door, taking said cubicle door off its hinges, a couple of clubbers walked in to use the facilities. Scrambled back out. And summoned the cavalry.

I’d worried Zheng Xi would be arrested. Best case scenario, he’d spend the night in the drunk tank. But I wasn’t ready to take that chance – brass behind bars spelled easy bait. I’d psyched myself up to call He Cheng for his sway with law enforcement, consequences be damned. Turned out, though, the responding officers knew Zheng Xi from their time at the training academy. And thank fuck for that. Forestalling the inevitable conversation where I would have to explain frolicking with a cop worked in my favour; He Cheng would never approve.

Zheng Xi and his buddies in blue had chatted about work, bitched about their bosses, and reminisced over their rookie days.

I remembered how they casted a few curious, sidelong glances my way. Probably wondering what Zheng Xi was doing with a guy in fishnet tights and rainbow Chucks.

Their intrigue was admissible.

I sometimes wondered, too.


	4. Chapter 4

The aroma of gourmet pizza lingered in the air, interlaced with the perpetual smoky, woodsy scent of the penthouse, and the placatory traces of Ria’s Chanel perfume.

The gentle illuminance from the geometric table lamp flirted with the flickering flare from the TV screen, adumbrating the luxe modern furniture and fixtures in the open-floor space.

Kaelin’s soft snoring interspaced the presenter’s pronouncements on the latest scandal to shake the political establishment. I wasn’t surprised her droning had put him to sleep; I could feel myself starting to knock off too.

I knew I should haul Kaelin to He Tian’s bed, and drag myself to the guest room. Well, what used to be the guest room until I started sleeping over at least twice a week. Filled the empty corners with my shit. Procured a potted peacock plant to liven the space up.

After my last relationship sundered my soul and derailed my dreams, I moved back in with my mom. Only, she was hardly ever around. And that was saying something, considering how, during my childhood, I could sometimes go a week or more without seeing her.

She’d always made sure I was looked after, and didn’t want for anything.

But all I’d ever wanted was her.

To help me with my homework. To hold my hand when I got my jabs. To hug me when a boy broke my heart.

When we were kids, He Tian and I would fabricate farfetched fables to explain her absence. To feed our fantasy-prone perceptions.

To mollify my misery.

In one of our more elaborate tales, we envisaged a steely assassin deployed to eliminate the elite. He Tian had postulated that she’d fallen for a target. And I was a product of that. The lovechild of a lone hitwoman and a high-ranking political leader.

It was ludicrous and outlandish.

Until I’d stumbled upon a stash of passports of women who all looked like my mom. In various disguises. With different names. And of varying nationalities.

I never told He Tian. But I suspected He Cheng, who always knew more than he ever let on, clued He Tian up as he got older.

The day after I’d turned eighteen, I received an inconspicuous letter with details of a trust fund I had access to. The amount was staggering. As was the realisation that I had a dad who knew about me and knew where I lived but didn’t wanna know me.

Well, he could take his charity and shove it up his uncharitable ass.

I hadn’t realised I’d nodded off til a jiggle in my pants startled me awake.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I swiped the screen. Read the message with one eye open.

> **Xixi:** You up?

I stretched against the quilted back of the leather two-seater, feeling a lazy smile titillate my lips.

> **You:** Yep
> 
> **You:** Thinking about me?

His response came in the form of an incoming video call.

Quickly, I muted the newscaster. Crept past a snoozing Kaelin. Commandeered a stool at the marble-topped kitchen island.

“You weren’t up,” was the first thing Zheng Xi said as we connected.

He was wearing his Jordan sleeveless hoodie, his spikey hair dark with perspiration. Zheng Xi liked going for his runs when the rest of the island had already turned in for the night.

“What gave it away? The drool on my face?” I asked, not because I ever drooled in my sleep – regardless of what He Tian spouted – but because I liked the way Zheng Xi’s eyes would dip and assess my mouth.

“Bed head,” he stated. Softly.

_Fuck._

“Be right back.” The words flew out and I was halfway off my seat when he stopped me with a rushed “No, Jian Yi! Wait!”

Running a hand through my tousled tresses, I reluctantly sat my ass back down. I didn’t want Zheng Xi seeing me with my hair anything less than perfect. It wasn’t a vanity thing; it was an irrational inclination to always look irresistible in front of him.

For him.

“Don’t fix it,” Zheng Xi admonished. “You look fine. Better than fine.”

I rested my phone on the counter and propped it upright with one of Ria’s recipe books.

“It’s couch head,” I mumbled, unconsciously pushing my bottom lip out in a pout and catching myself on-screen. “How was your midnight stroll?”

“Great. Had the beach to myself.” Distractingly, he wiped the back of his neck with a gym towel. And I could feel my imagination running away with me – the delicious scent of his clean sweat, the saltiness of the beach on his skin, the sound of him panting as the low tide lapped at the shore. “You should come visit.”

I looked away. Fiddled with the hem of my baggy shirt.

It wasn’t the first time Zheng Xi had asked me about visiting Hong Kong. I wanted to. Had even gone so far as to preliminarily plan a round trip. The issue was that Zheng Xi insisted I stay with him.

And his ex.

He’d briefly introduced us after we both got tired of skirting round her. The chilly look in her eyes and cool tone told me what she thought of me. And how much she would welcome having me over.

I got on with most people. But barefaced homophobia was a barricade I had little interest in dismantling.

“Work’s riding my ass right now,” I lied. “And I’m going back to school next semester.” Which wasn’t a lie.

“Oh.” There was that momentary downcast of his eyes. The one that said he was disappointed. Or stumped. Or sad.

Shit.

“Xixi,” I said, intending to sidetrack him with the latest on the Twitch grapevine.

He glanced up. Focused on something behind me, his brow furrowing.

Puzzled, I swivelled round and swallowed a scream as I came face-to-butt with He Cheng.

His eerie stealth was not something I could ever get used to, especially given how his taurine bulk should have made it impossible for him to move with such arrant silence.

Having acquired a couple of water bottles, He Cheng let the refrigerator close with a whispered _whish_. He turned towards me and I discreetly angled my phone screen away from him; I didn’t need him interrogating me about the man I was chatting to at two am in the morning.

“Can’t sleep?” He Cheng’s deep bass notes rumbled through the darkness like thunder resounding before dawn.

The resemblance between the brothers surpassed their physical appearances – they were both brutishly regal in a way that was impossible to imitate. But whereas the triad admired He Tian for his astuteness and envied his charm, He Cheng was respected for his austerity and feared for his unforgiving nature.

“You want I could brew you some masala chai?” Except, of course, He Cheng shed that frosty exterior around his family. “Ria says it’s almost passable.”

I smiled. “Thanks. Rain check?”

“Dick,” He Cheng grumbled, ruffling my already mussed hair. “You turning my chai down? Almost fucking passable in her books is like an eight out of ten.”

I laughed as I fought him off.

Bid him goodnight when he relinquished his hold on me.

As soon as He Cheng cleared the corner leading to the master bedroom, I righted the phone.

“Sorry,” I whispered, sheepishly.

“Are you –” Zheng Xi’s voice faltered. “Who was that?”

He looked conflicted. Or hurt. Or both.

It hit me then what Zheng Xi must have witnessed. A decapitated man in boxer briefs. Maybe an impossibly-neat goatee when He Cheng had drawn closer.

“I didn’t know you were seeing some–”

“No, Xixi.” I cut in. “That was He Tian’s brother.”

“You’re going out with his brother?” The confusion on Zheng Xi’s face was offset by an emotion I didn’t dare put a name to.

It might have rhymed with beget.

I took a deep breath, berating myself for reading too much into his reaction. “He Cheng’s an older brother to me. He practically raised me.”

Running a hand down his face, Zheng Xi swore under his breath.

And Zheng Xi didn’t swear often.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I feel like such an idiot right now.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why I am getting so worked up about you dating?”

I didn’t know if he was asking me or asking himself.

“Well,” I said with a cheerfulness I didn’t feel. “If you were connecting with someone on that level, I’d like to think that, as one of your really, _really,_ good friends, I’d be one of the first to know.”

He was quiet, his troubled eyes searching my face for answers I didn’t have. For answers I wasn’t willing to give.

“Is that what it is?” His voice was hoarse.

Swallowing back my guilt, I smothered my confessions with a smile I hoped didn’t look as stiff as it felt. “I’m sure it is.”

Zheng Xi exhaled, looking embarrassed. “You’re so good at this, Jian Yi.”

“At what?”

“Being a friend,” he replied with a smile more sincere than my own.

And I heard my heart break just a little.


	5. Chapter 5

Today 05:35

**Xixi:** Morning

 **You:** It’s literally fuck you o’clock

 **You:** Why are you up so early?

 **Xixi:** Went for a swim

 **Xixi:** What you doing?

 **You:** Sleeping

 **You:** Or trying to

 **Xixi:** [Incoming Video Call]

 **You:** !!!!!

 **You:** No

 **Xixi:** Pick up

 **Xixi:** Let me see that bed head

 

Today 08:10

**You:** [click to view]

 **You:** Ria made us dosas for breakfast

 **You:** I think I ate about ten

 **Xixi:** #noregrets

 

Today 08:55

**Xixi:** [click to view]

 **Xixi:** Don’t let anyone ever tell you a cop eating a doughnut is a stereotype

 **You:** That is a bagel

 

Today 10:02

**Xixi:** I’m in a briefing about cyber conflict and the credit crisis

 **Xixi:** And I am losing the will to live

 **Xixi:** You doing anything fun?

 **You:** Taking inventory of the dildos at work

 **You:** And categorising them

 **Xixi:** By what?

 **You:** Well

 **You:** Not size

 **Xixi** : ?

 **Xixi:** What else is there?

 **You:** Not colour either

 **Xixi:** Okay. Let’s pretend I never asked.

 

Today 13:05

**You:** [click to view]

 **You:** Ria packed me veg tehri

 **Xixi:** Looks better than my lunch

 **Xixi:** [click to view]

 **Xixi:** Doughnuts again

 **You:** That is a fucking bagel, Xixi

 

Today 15:20

**Xixi:** If I pull in some extra hours at work today I could take tomorrow off

 **You:** Sick

 **You:** Do you have plans?

 **Xixi:** I was about to ask you the same thing

 **You:** ???

 **Xixi:** I could fly over tomorrow

 **Xixi:** If you’re free

 **You:** !!!!!!!!

 **You:** YES!!!

 **Xixi:** Hahaha

 **Xixi:** I’ll meet my parents for lunch

 **Xixi:** And see you in the evening?

 **You:** I’ll pick you up

 **Xixi:** What do you wanna do?

 **You:** How do you feel about lingerie?


	6. Chapter 6

My default state was broke but ballin’.

I looked up my symptoms once and Google suggested ‘sybarite’. The term was fitting, if only because it made me sound like a kickass, scumbag-smiting goddess.

Most of my pay went towards funding my fashion fix. Purchasing hair products. Oh, and all things Tom Ford.

Anything that was left at the end of the month, which was often hardly ever much, I would save for a rainy day.

I decided that that rainy day had arrived.

The afternoon had been hotter than Dutch love – with not a nimbus cloud in sight – but, as the sun began to set, the heat waned to something milder and more tolerable.

Dressed in a tie-front shirt and high-rise skinnies, I enjoyed what little circulation of air there was with the top down in my Mini Convertible. Took the turning that would take me to the apartment complex where Zheng Xi’s parents lived. And slowed to a stop.

Thrown into silhouette against the slinking sun, Zheng Xi cast a riveting shadow where he stood, hands in his pockets, resting against a ground-floor parapet.

I studied him for a minute. Suppressed a wistful sigh. Then tooted lightly.

Jogging towards me, he looked delicious as fuck in denim shorts and a scoop neck top that showed off his hefty arms. And a hint of cleavage.

_Yesss._

Once he’d folded himself into the car, he took his aviators off. Leaned towards me for a hug. Canted his head slightly for the kiss he’d come to expect.

I didn’t disappoint.

I pecked his stubble-studded cheek. Hummed as his whiskers sent a tingle from my lips straight to my toes.

“You look great,” he grinned as I shifted into gear. “I like the whole windswept thing your hair is doing. Not _quite_ as wild as your bed head, though.”

“Piss off,” I laughed. And he joined me.

We exchanged our objections to the weather; the humidity meant I had to spend twice as long on my hair and, apparently, the heat made Zheng Xi’s skin itch.

“How was lunch?” I asked, pausing at a red light.

“My folks are on my case again.” The aviator shades shielded Zheng Xi’s eyes, but the faint downturn of his mouth was easy to read.

“About moving back?”

“Nah.” He slouched in his seat. “They think I should try harder with Fei.”

I ignored the twinge in my chest. “They want you to settle down?”

“My mom thought she’d have a grandkid by now.”

The twinge twisted and writhed. “But you guys broke up.”

“That’s what they don’t get. Why we don’t fit. I mean, she’s perfect. In every way they can think of.”

“What about in the ways you can think of?” The question felt heavy on my tongue.

Did I really want to know?

Zheng Xi shook his head. “This is gonna make me sound like such a tool.”

“I won’t judge you for being honest, Xixi. You know that.” My grip on the steering wheel tightened as I pressed down a fraction harder on the gas pedal.

“She liked me more than I liked her.” He said it like he was ashamed of it, or ashamed for having failed at something he expected to have succeeded in. “I couldn’t pretend that what I felt for her hadn’t plateaued when she was still reeling from sparks I couldn’t see.” A humourless laugh. “You can say it. I’m an ass.”

“You can’t help how you feel, Xixi.”

In the periphery of my vision, Zheng Xi’s shoulders slumped. Resigned. Or relieved. Or a bit of both.

Wordlessly, he untangled my USB cable. Hooked his phone to the car’s hi-fi system.

Camila Cabello hollered through the speakers, calling out for some real friends.

At the next set of red lights, Zheng Xi nudged my hand with his.

And we spent the rest of the song with our little fingers entwined.

_You can’t help how you feel._


	7. Chapter 7

Belle’s Boudoir was a rarefied boutique resting in the bosom of the province’s most affluent borough. Not, at first glance, the kind of lingerie store I expected would welcome male clients.

But Belle and I had hit it off on Weibo. She’d been thriving in the industry for over a decade and, when her lines started to include drag corsets, her customer base soared. I’d been toying with the idea of wearing a bra for years but my online purchases served only to make me feel frumpy and foolish. And, if I was having an especially shitty day, like a fraud. Offering to fit me, Belle promised she’d find me the perfect bust companion.

By the time I parked up, nightfall had settled, submerging the streets in subfusc umbrae. The vintage-style lampposts lit a path towards our destination.

I’d deliberately booked an evening slot; I wasn’t sure how Zheng Xi would feel about the excursion and I reckoned the fewer customers about to cast aspersions on his masculinity the better.

Except, as we entered the store via extravagant, wrought iron doors, he appeared awkward and ambivalent.

“You look like you’re about to shit a brick, Xixi.” I joked, when, really, the thought of Zheng Xi being uncomfortable around me made _me_ wanna shit a brick.

“Huh?” Zheng Xi blinked at me. Then blinked again when a Junoesque woman with a lived-in pixie do barrelled towards us.

“Jian Yi!” Belle bussed the air on either side of my face. Held me at arm’s length. Openly assessed my ensemble. “You need to fire whoever takes your selfies. You’re cuter than hell without the filter.”

“Hey, I’m cute in my selfies.” I protested, letting her spin me on the spot.

“But a bombshell without the beaver ears, _mon caneton_.” She turned to Zheng Xi. Raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Eyes widening, Zheng Xi opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.

Fuck, he was adorable.

“This is Zhan Zheng Xi,” I interjected. “A friend of mine.”

She pinned him with a playful smile. Patted his cheek. “Do you buy all your friends from Hunkdom, Jian Yi?”

She’d already seen He Tian in a few of my photos online. Fawned over him frequently.

“Hi,” Zheng Xi managed.

“You can call me Belle, _mon chaton._ Are you looking to be fitted, too?” She asked, steering us past all manner of intimate apparel – from cutesy to chic, sassy to strappy, and demure damsel to sex-starved dominatrix.

Zheng Xi tripped over air. “Uh, no. I’m not – I’m not looking at any –”

Wrapping myself around his arm, I beamed at Belle. “He’s helping me choose.”

“Excellent,” she chimed, clapping her hands together. “I sent my assistants home early so we have the place to ourselves.”

As she swung open a double set of doors, I released Zheng Xi. Whispered in his ear.

“Relax, Xixi, we’re buying a bra not a biological weapon.”

“Some of the things in here _are_ biological weapons,” he whispered back, grabbing my wrist before I could drift away.

I smothered a giggle. Rolled my eyes instead. And enjoyed the feel of my hand in his.

If Zheng Xi was stringing sentences again, his unease must have ebbed a smidgen.

Leading us into a lavish lounge area with Rococo overtones, Belle gestured towards a snug loveseat.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable.” She pulled an aureate clothes rail towards the centre of the room. “I’ve added a few of this season’s favourites to some of our all-time bestsellers.”

A line-up of glamorous, garnished and grandiloquent undergarments.

“Wow,” I breathed, bewitched by the ruffles and shimmer and ruche.

While Zheng Xi took mansplaying to a whole other level, I lost myself in the embellished bras.

“You mentioned you weren’t looking for volume, _mon caneton_ , so I haven’t included any padded cups.”

“They all look so _lush_ , Belle.” I gasped and gawked as I came upon a bejewelled beauty.

She chuckled. “Only those handcrafted with love and care make the final cut.”

Having ascertained whether we preferred a hot or cold beverage, Belle moseyed out of the room with an assurance that she’d “be back in a mo”.

“I love them all, Xixi.” I picked out a skimpy satin number. “How do I choose?”

I looked over at him, and Zheng Xi couldn’t have looked more irresistible if he’d tried – flustered, flushed, the sunglasses hanging from his flimsy neckline giving me an exquisite eyeful.

“Machine-washable?” He half-shrugged, looking a little out of his depth.

Ah, Zheng Xi. Always so practical. ~~~~

“Don’t be shy to share your het man opinions.” I waved him over. “Come up here. Opinionate.”

Joining me at the rack, Zheng Xi huffed a breath. Shoved his hands into his pockets. Scanned the garments. “I know jack all about this stuff, Jian Yi.”

“Which one could I pull off?” I pushed.

“Any,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “All of ’em.”

I crossed my arms; I knew _that_ wasn’t true. When I got my first bra my ex wasn’t afraid to tell me I looked like a fucking tramp.

_Great._

Now I was drudging up my painful past.

When I didn’t say anything, Zheng Xi glanced at me. I’m not sure what he saw on my face, but he frowned a little. Like he was trying to figure it out.

Figure me out.

“Okay. So,” Zheng Xi squared his shoulders. Tugged at his ear. “Something in a pastel colour, maybe? Because you’re fair, right? And lighter tones on you would look, you know, soft. Mellow.” He selected two items, one in lemon chiffon, the other a cherry blossom pink. “What do you think?”

Despite my wobbly smile, I was touched.

“And,” he whizzed through a few more pieces. Plucked out a lacy bra in burgundy. “When you wanna look like a wet dream, you could go for something darker.”

My smile was at full-voltage now, my painful past bolted and behind me.

“How would you know what I look like in a wet dream, Xixi?” I teased. Batted my lashes.

Except, after I’d said it, Zheng Xi’s faint flush went full-throttle.

_Shit._

How hard could one blush before passing out?

I attempted a cavalier laugh to diffuse his embarrassment, but it sounded kinda hysterical. And kinda like a sob.

If he’d looked out of his depth before, he looked like he wanted to drown himself now.

Only, I wanted to be the one to take him under. Down, down the rabbit hole. Where no one could see, and we could be whoever we wanted to be.

The last few months – over radio waves and in person – had been a mass of allusion and implication. I knew that I wanted him, in a way that a man wanted another man, but also in the way a boy wanted the friend he’d been pining after for so long he forgot what life was like without a little longing. A little loving.

And Zheng Xi knew it.

His feelings towards me, though, were a farrago of confusion and curiosity, fuelled by our drunken indiscretion.

Sometimes, he looked at me like he wanted one more night.

But I wanted a lifetime.

And the war between my head and heart raged on.

We both jumped as Belle burst into the room.

“I hope you both like oolong tea.” She placed a loaded tray on the florid table in front of the loveseat. Fussed over it. Poured us each a cup.

The fruity fragrance of honey floated around us.

“I have a few I’d like to try.” I pried Burgundy and Lemon Chiffon from Zheng Xi’s fisted hands. Grabbed a couple more bras from the rail.

“Fantastic!” Opening the top drawer of a baroque bureau in the corner, she pulled out a soft measuring tape. “Now comes my favourite part.”

With instructions to Zheng Xi to sample the tea, Belle herded me towards the section of the lounge that had been partitioned off. Behind the chinoiserie folding screen, I slipped out of my shirt and let Belle work her magic.

I liked that she didn’t comment on my scar. But I also liked that she didn’t pretend it wasn’t there.

Once she’d taken her measurements, she eyeballed the samples I’d chosen.

“The Bordeaux Rosé should fit nicely.” She lifted a nude pink bra with mesh detail. Then indicated Burgundy. “As should Saint Julien. For the others, _mon caneton_ , I’ll need to get your size from the stockroom.”

Once I had the nude bra on, Belle tweaked the straps. Tugged the bridge.

“How does she feel?” She asked.

I looked at myself in the full-length, gilt-framed mirror.

Wow.

It fit like a dream. Looked like it too.

I pivoted. Looked over my shoulder for a view of the back. “I love it so much.”

She cooed, clasping her hands together. “Shall we show your friend?”

I nodded. My palms suddenly slick, I stepped out from behind the screen. Swallowed as my stomach lurched.

_Please don’t think I look like a tramp._

_Please._

“ _Mon chaton_ ,” Belle called out. “What say you?”

Zheng Xi looked up, spluttered a little of his oolong tea. Belle tittered as he put his cup down with an unsteady clank and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Breathtaking, isn’t he?” Belle prodded, making me feel beautiful and bashful at the same time.

“You look amazing, Jian Yi.”

The gentle caress of his gaze. The cryptic glint in his eye. The careful glide of his tongue over luscious lips. They all reminded me of a certain nightclub.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” His eyes, long and lingering, made their way back to mine. “Perfect.”

My face heated. And, this time, my palms went slick for a very different reason.

The spell broke when Belle nudged me. “You friend knows what he’s talking about.” She winked.  “Right. I’m gonna make a quick trip to the stockroom,” she announced, bouncing a little. She turned to me. “Why don’t you have yourself a drink, _mon caneton_? I won’t be long.”

As she sauntered out of the room, I strolled back behind the screen. Unsnapped Bordeaux Rosé.

I was about to shimmy back into my shirt when Saint Julien caught my eye, and called to me.

The Chantilly lace. The soft, sheer cups. The sensuous curves.

Giving in, I picked it up. Put my arms through the straps. Pulled the wings round me.

The straps, however, were far too long and kept sliding off my shoulders.

Damn.

I could’ve waited for Belle to return, but a little voice reminded me of someone who was already in the vicinity.

I think the voice belonged to my dick.

“Xixi!”

“Yeah?” He replied. “You okay?”

“I need some help.”

The clink of a ceramic cup. The rustle of movement. The creak of a floorboard or piece of furniture.

And there he was. All two hundred and twenty pounds of him. Taking up all the space behind the screen. And all the air too.

His eyes travelled down my length. Devoured me bit by bit. And I realised what I must have looked like, with my hair slipping out of its knot, arms wrapped round my chest, a pale nipple peeking out from behind the burgundy lace.

But ‘desperate’ was the furthest thing from my mind as I watched desire then guilt then desire darken Zheng Xi’s features.

The raw hunger in his stare sent my moral compass spinning.

Spinning.

Spinning.

_Fuck._

Turning my back to him, I took in a slow, shaky breath. “The straps need adjusting, Xixi. Can you see the little sliders?”

I heard him step towards me. Once. And then twice. Til I could feel the warmth from his body against my bare skin. Til his spice of sage and gunpowder sifted through my vanilla essence. Til he was close enough I could pretend, for a moment, he was mine.

Then I stilled as he fitted himself to the curve of my back.

He loosened the bun at the top of my head. Set my locks free. Buried his nose in my hair.

And when he breathed out, I felt it like a sigh moving through his body.

“Zheng Xi…”

“Where do we go from here, Jian Yi?” His voice, smoky and strained, sizzled down my spine.

I backed into him. Pressed myself against his hardness. His heat. And melted into him.

“We can’t,” I choked. “It’ll complicate –”

“It already feels so complicated.” A pause. A grind of teeth. “So fucking complicated. You said you brought me here to opinionate,” he growled against my ear. “That isn’t even a _word._ ”

“Don’t put this on me,” I growled back, ignoring the stinging behind my eyes. “You aren't even – You’re straight, you –”

“I’ve _never_ felt straight around you.” And then he grabbed my chin. Lifted it over my shoulder so that I was looking up at him. At the tempest in his glacial eyes.

And I could see it.

I could see what he wanted.

His eyelids lowered to half-mast as he focused on my lips.

“Only do it if you mean it,” I pleaded.

He frowned. Clenched his jaw.

“I’ve never not meant it,” he whispered against my lips before he kissed me.

It was soft.

And chaste.

And sweet.

And over before it even began.

“I thought we were complicated,” I murmured. “That was, like, the _opposite_ of comp–”

And then Zheng Xi spun me around so fast my chest hit his with an audible thud.

His arm snaked round my back. Unclasped the bra in a swift motion. His other hand moved to my hair, mussing it up, and angling my head so he could kiss me again.

I pushed up on my toes. Curled my own arms round his neck. And met him halfway.

On lust-fuelled autopilot, we kissed hard enough to bruise.

He met my tender pecks with stinging nips. And my timid nips with prickling bites. And when I licked the seam of his lips, he opened up and let me languidly tongue his mouth. He tasted of the honey orchid oolong tea – orange blossom and apricot.

And heat.

And heaven.

He swallowed my throaty whine. Sucked on my tongue. Stole the breath I tried to take.

The sublime burn of his three-day whiskers against my cheeks was excruciating.

And fucking exhilarating.

I couldn’t _wait_ to feel it against other parts of me.

When my knees finally buckled, he let me come up for air. And we panted, our chests expanding against each other with every precious breath we took.

When I found my footing, he snuck a hand under Saint Julien. Traced the scar down my breastbone. 

“Did we… We didn’t kiss that night,” he rasped, sounding as kiss-drunk as I felt.

I didn’t have to ask him which night he meant. “No?”

“If we did,” he cupped the side of my face. “How did we ever stop?”

I would’ve smiled at him.

Except, well, it was kinda hard to, what with him kissing me again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A usually calm and composed Zheng Xi who just *snaps* is such a turn-on. 
> 
> This ship will always have a special place in my heart and if you enjoyed this ficlet, please consider leaving them (or me haha) some love down below.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> x


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